Western College, one of the big Conference teams, sporting a line composed of tough, corn-fed two hundred-pounders and a backfield of huskies that drove through like locomotives, hit the Tate Stadium. Tate had to play real football and realized it from the start. In the first five minutes of play, Western ripped the Tate line to shreds and Cavendish was obliged to rush his first string backfield into the game immediately to support the tottering tackles and guards. Trask, Blythe and Houghton did yeomen service during that hectic first half, with the Tatians in the grandstand alternately cheering their heads off and holding their breath in fear. Once the huge red-headed Western fullback plowed right through the Tate center and had a clear field for a touchdown, except for Crawford hovering half way to the goal line. When the hastily formed Western interference took Crawford neatly out, the Tate rooters gave all up for lost, till Chester Trask, coming down the field like a hundred-yard man, dived through the air at the red-head and brought him to earth five yards from the last chalk mark. Then miraculously Tate's line held, and the half ended 0-0.
Cavendish read the riot act between the halves. He tongue-lashed the linemen until they were ready to go out and stop the Twen-
